


Every River

by Rìgh_Marbh (Righ_Marbh)



Series: Pride of the Summer [10]
Category: Frey & McGray Series - Oscar de Muriel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 08:16:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20150503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Righ_Marbh/pseuds/R%C3%ACgh_Marbh
Summary: Loch Maree is a disaster, so they don’t talk about it.





	Every River

The less said about Loch Maree, the better.

So they don’t talk about it. 

It hovers at the back of their minds and their conversations even as Ian arranges the funeral and deals with the lawyers and does everything he can to fend off his family who are all of a sudden talking to him again after that mess at the Lyceum. 

McGray is a constant, heavy presence at his side and though he says little Ian knows he’s hurting just as much, albeit in a different way. He knows because McGray, who is always hyper aware of how much space he takes up is suddenly everywhere at once, filling up all of the holes in Ian’s life and looming over his shoulder with a dark look when people outstay their welcome and all but pinning him to a bed when the nightmares leave him reluctant to close his eyes.

And of course McGray knows how he feels. These are all the things that Ian did for him not so long ago and that’s what he tells himself when Ian finds his temper reaching breaking point and he wants to scream and shout and tell McGray to stop fucking _coddling_ him.

Actually, shouting probably isn’t too bad an idea but they’re still stuck at the Plantard estate and whilst Ian might have been able to bring himself to relinquish that last little bit of control in Edinburgh, England has begun to feel like a gag stuffed in his mouth and he can’t do it. So he tries something else. Something new.

“I would like you to promise me something.”

McGray tenses. They’re sitting in two opposing armchairs in front of the drawing room fireplace with two empty bottles of wine on the table between them. The funeral was days ago now but there’s so much damned paperwork around these kind of things and technically the official enquiry is still ongoing and Ian is not quite willing to admit that he’s hiding in England to avoid having to relive the whole thing in front of a judge.

“Ye mind how well that went the last time?”

Laurence had turned to approach them at the funeral and it had been the highlight of the afternoon to see his eyes widen and his colour drain as McGray stepped up to Ian’s elbow. Elgie, who was taking the entire situation admirably, had subsequently spent the rest of the wake manipulating _everyone_ so that Laurence kept finding himself running into McGray everywhere. It was a faint illusion of amusement that had never fully penetrated his grief but chasing the pair of them around the house to get them to behave _had_ stopped Ian from trying to throttle the next person to shake his hand and offer their condolences. 

“I hope this one might be significantly easier for you to keep.” If his behaviour over the last few weeks was anything to go by, Ian was relatively confident that even McGray couldn’t mess this one up. “I would like you to promise that you wont let me run away again.”

“Why? D’ye want tae?”

_Desperately_. The urge to lock himself in Uncle Maurice’s wine cellar and just drink the whole thing dry and to hell with the rest of the world was waging a fierce war against the more rational parts of Ian.

“I want to…I don’t know what I want if I’m honest but we have come too far for me to ruin it all now.”

It was more than a partnership, he thought, this thing that they had. They’d broken up and broken down and beat each other black and blue and come out the other side as something that Ian couldn’t even recognise as a relationship. Not in the traditional sense.

“Alright then. I promise I’ll no let ye run away and, while we’re at it, will ye promise tae _talk_ tae me?”

“I rather recall your one complaint being that I never shut up.”

The laugh that pulls out of McGray is breathy and, at the same time, rather sad.

“Ye dinnae…but half the time yer no actually _saying_ anythin’…yer jist talking tae put other folk off.”

“Alright, alright. I promise.”

The silence they lapsed into was too heavy to be truly comfortable.

“What is it?”

McGray’s frown was deeper than normal, as though he was having an intense argument with himself as he drummed his flangers against the arm of the chair. He remained still for a moment before bursting into action, reaching into his coat and digging something out of his inside pocket. Whatever it was, he kept it clasped tightly in his hand as he spoke.

“I found this when I wis clearing out the desk…forgot I’d thrown it in there after…well that’s no the point but I dinnae want ye tae think it’s…an well...och _fuck it_.”

He drops it onto the table, between the empty wine bottles, and Ian can only blink in confusion at the tiny black velvet box sitting in front of him. He couldn’t imagine why McGray would have a box like that or what relevance it could possibly have to their conversation. The last time he’d seen a box like that…

…had been when he’d bough an engagement ring for Eugenia.

_Oh._

Abruptly, McGray stands and turns to leave. He gets halfway across the room before returning, pressing a firm kiss to Ian’s lips and then departing without a word. 

Ian stares at the box for a little while longer before tentatively reaching out and picking it up. It’s a old box, with little patches worn in the velvet at the corners where it’s been knocked about. The latch is a delicate brass affair and a little tarnished with age. It opens with little difficulty and Ian is slowly beginning to convince himself that this is just an elaborate ploy to give him a heart attack when he tips back the lid to find a simple, platinum ring. At first it looks like a plain, elegantband but as Ian tilts the box, the light catches on faintly engraved words. He hasn’t studied Gaelic since his second year of university and the meaning of ‘_A h-uile slighean de mo bheatha, is fheàrr leam a bhith còmhla riut_’ is lost on him but knowing McGray it’s probably either a filthy joke or something achingly sentimental.

When Ian lifts the ring from the box, he’s more surprised to find that after everything it fits him more perfectly than it would have five years ago and he can do little but stare at his hand for a moment before realising that there’s space for a second ring in the box. Which surely means…

*

He finds McGray pacing the bedroom they’ve set themselves up in and Ian can’t believe that, with all the time they’ve spent living on top of each other, he hadn’t noticed the fine silver chain McGray had started wearing around his neck.He leans on the door frame, hands in his pockets, and watches for a while. There’s always something rather disarming about seeing McGray so very uncertain and Ian doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired to seeing it.

“You know, when I proposed to Eugenia, she gave me a fourteen step plan for how the entire evening was supposed to go, down to the wording of how I was supposed to ask.”

McGray stops pacing and settles himself against the windowsill at the far end of the room. What it is with this infuriating man and putting a world of distance between them when all Ian wants to do is have him _there_, he may never know.

“Aye well, I figure if I dinnae actually ask ye anything, ye cannae say no.”

“You realise that means I can’t rightly say yes either?” McGray shrugs but there’s a warmth to his expression that sets a fire in Ian’s chest.“It’s never going to be the same way it was.”

“I ken that.”

“I’m not sure I can face the hassle of…”

The preparations for Laurence and Eugenia’s wedding loomed large in his mind. Adding the terrific _scandal_ this would be to that malestrom of organisation and planning sent a cold pang of dread through him.

“Gid, me neither. I jist wanted…something fir _us_, ye ken? If ye think it’s daft then…”

“For once, Adolphus, I think you may be right..now would you please stop sulking on the windowsill and come here and kiss me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hot fucking damn, I’ve done it! 
> 
> As to the meaning of the engraving, it’ a translation of a line from one of my favourite Runrig songs, Every River, meaning ‘All the ways of my life, I’d rather be with you’ and I challenge you to listen to the damned song and *not* picture these idiots. 
> 
> With this out of the way and a new book being released tomorrow, I’m thrilled to say I’m looking forwards to a whole world of new ideas that are going to take over my life.


End file.
